Fragile, This Side Up
by Dysfunctional Prussian Reverie
Summary: Based off of LolliDictator's Manuals. Annalies Stover is your average teenage otaku, whose mother doesn't want her home alone. What is the chaos to ensue? Rated due to cursing, and possibly England's cooking in future chapters. Fail summary is fail...beh


_Just something i did out of boredom. It looked like a good way to work on my writing and it looked like fun. It's based off of LolliDictator's awesome manuals. I've read other fics based off of them, and they were pretty epic, so i thought i'd try my hand at it. Sorry, it's pretty fail, this is actually my first Hetalia fic. ^^; eheh..._

_Disclaimer: I do NOT own Hetalia: Axis Powers, all characters, besides Annalies, belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. And the Manual is written by LolliDictator, as stated above. I own nothing except Annalies Stover. Kay? Kay!_

My current position, you ask? Standing in my kitchen, in front of this huge-ass box… crate… thing… Or should I say being towered over by the damn thing? Seriously it had to be about 5 foot 10, 5 feet 11? And I'm just at a tiny thing of only 5 foot 2. It's definitely towering me…

Ah, that's right! I forgot to introduce myself. That's really rude of me. My name is Annalies Stover, (pronounced On-a-lease). I've just turned 16 this summer. As I mentioned before, I'm not really all that tall, but I have long accepted that small fact. Heh, i just made a horrible pun... My usual fair skin was now a shade or two, maybe three, lighter, as I stared, blankly, at the crate with my bluish-green eyes.

"Uh… Mum?" I called, turning my head, my eyes never leaving the object in question. "Mum!" Of course. Just my luck. No answer. I had been left home alone, once again, in the most inconvenient of times. Meaning that more than likely, my sister was either working at her full time job, (that being Hardees', home of the best fucking shakes ever, other than Dairy Queen), or hanging out with her boyfriend, and my mother was out doing stuff for my dad, or at the bar. Don't get me wrong, my mother isn't a drunk, it's just that she likes seeing her friends that go there.

But that's a bit off topic isn't it? Of course it is.

Maybe I should start from the beginning, huh?

It all started when my mum confronted me on how much I had been left home alone recently. Which was odd seeing as when I was younger, my sister and I were left home a lot, so we were able to take care of ourselves while our parents were at work.

"Mum, I'm not really home alone," I blandly stated, my eyes on the fan fiction I was reading. "I have Zephyr here. All the time…" Zephyr was our beast of a dog. A one-year-old silver we… weimamer…Weimaraner? Eh… It's a big word I can't pronounce… Anyway, the name Zephyr fit him perfectly, seeing as he could run like an Italian being chased by the British when he wanted to. He was also as sweet as one too. A big Mamas' boy.

My mum gave me that look. You know, that one look that says "Yeah, like that's really buyable", and then she sighed, causing me to turn in my chair and look at her. "What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Don't worry about it. But I am going to do something about you staying home alone." She told me. I looked at her skeptically and slowly turned back to the screen.

During the next couple days that went by, nothing had happened that indicated that my mother had done anything. That alone made me suspicious. Then again, it was probably just my paranoia. Though, after about five days after our conversation, I was proved wrong.

It was almost 1:43 in the afternoon when I had woken up from my short (2 hour) nap. I had found the hall and living room vacant except for Zephyr, and of course, as I groggily walked past it, the giant crate. I stopped in my tracks and looked back at it.

Now, here I stand, confused and wondering what to do. Looking over the wooden object, of which was plastered with multiple labels that read "FRAGILE", I saw what looked like a smaller box on top of the crate and a manila folder taped innocently to the side. "Beh?" I mumbled, reaching up to the folder, removing it from the side and opening it, pulling out what looked to be a manual of sorts.

The bunch of papers slipped out of my hands and landed on the linoleum floor with a dull 'thwap', and my eyes widened in disbelief.

No way…

No fucking way!

"FUCKING YES!" I squealed, excitedly, throwing my hands up in joy. I ran through the house like an idiot, laughing and jumping up and down happily. The front of the booklet read: "ARTHUR KIRKLAND: User Guide and Manual".

'Maybe this isn't going to be that bad after all.' I thought, grinning to myself.

**Review and comment for me, _da_? I'd like to know how i did. I'll take any constructive criticism and advice you have to make this better and more enjoyable you you all. And sorry is was a bit short; it was actually about three pages in my notebook, without all of the editing/adding i did. So ja, tchuss~!**


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